were simply too little, too late.
“What are you thinking?” he said.
“I’m thinking I better head home now.”
As soon as the words were out, I changed my mind and hoped that he’d protest. I wanted him to say and do all the things that made him a great coach. I wanted him to make everything better the way he always had.
But he simply nodded and said okay. Then he walked me to the door, where he gave me a quick platonic hug, followed by an equally platonic kiss on the cheek, as if he, too, realized that something had shifted between us and was surrendering to a new status quo.
“So, you’re going to Chicago tomorrow?” I said, stalling, feigning normalcy. As if anything had been normal about this entire evening. Even decorating the tree had been a charade set to a Harry Connick, Jr., soundtrack.
“Yes,” he said, also pretending. “I’ll call you from the road.”
“Great.” I nodded as he reached beyond me for the storm door, propping it open with his outstretched arm. I stepped onto the porch, still stalling. Moths danced around the lanterns, and one collided with my cheek. I swiped at its soft, powdery wings, but kept staring at him, waiting for something more.
When he still didn’t speak, I said his name. Clive. There was urgency in my voice, neediness.
“What is it, Shea?” he said softly, still holding the door open.
I didn’t answer, and he pulled me back into the darkened foyer, letting the storm door snap closed. Then he pushed the front door shut, and put his arms around me, this time in a real embrace. “Please don’t go,” he said. “Not yet. Not like this.”
I held on to him as tightly as I could and said, “Why do I feel like we just lost?”
“Because we did,” he whispered into my hair. “We lost because of poor coaching. Bad leadership. This is my fault. I take full responsibility.”
I didn’t debate his statement, believing it to be true. I blamed him for where we were. I blamed him for not reporting the incident. Not doing more. But I still let him lean in and kiss me, softly, then more urgently. His whiskers were rough against my chin, but I kissed him back as hard and frantically as I could, holding on to his neck, clawing at his chest and back, slipping my hand down the back of his jeans. I tried to keep my mind as blank as I could, focusing only on the physical, the sound of his voice murmuring my name. And for a few seconds, it worked. His kisses erased every thought I had, until I heard myself say, “I want you. All of you.”
He kept kissing me, his hands on my back and hips, stomach and breasts, as I made my request again, more clearly. “Make love to me,” I said.
“Tonight?” he said, before moving on to my neck, his breath warm in my ear.
“Yes. Right now,” I said, pulling him from the foyer to the hallway.
We made it a few steps before he said, “Shea … Wait. Slow down.”
“No. Now,” I said, still walking backwards, pulling him toward his bedroom, then changing my mind and guiding him toward the upstairs guest room.
“What’s the rush?” he asked, grabbing my arms, stopping me.
“This might be our only chance.”
He stared into my eyes, then nodded, as if he got it. Because everyone who loves sports knows that sometimes you only have one shot. Sometimes you don’t have the luxury to think or wait or plan. Sometimes you have to reach out and seize your moment. Your best, last, or only chance. And maybe this was ours. If I couldn’t get over what happened years before. If Lucy couldn’t get over what was happening now. This thing could be over before it ever really began.
I think he understood all of this, but he still shook his head and said no.
“Why not?” I asked, filled with a range of emotions. Disappointment and confusion and guilt. Always guilt. “Because of Lucy?” I glanced down the hallway toward his bedroom. “Or Connie?”
“No. Because of you. Because of us. Because we have some things to work through. We have to be disciplined. We have to be patient.”
“And what if we can’t work through them?” I asked.
“We will,” he said.
“How do you know?” I searched for answers in his eyes and the lines around them. He was every bit as rugged and sexy as he always was, but he looked older than